This too, will fly.

A boy sings a song
Melody amorphous like the body of water.
A boy's tongue is a slippery altar
Where God falls every now and then
Into thorny lyrics.
A boy was not born to sing,
This is why he will not burn
When God finally rises on his feet
And blows the final whistle.
A boy will be pardoned
By the number of times he'd wept
Alone, on days when his hands
Went through the mirror;
And what he had ever held
Had never been the image of God.
So a boy will fly on that day
When theists find their gods in the sky,
And atheists find their fellow men
At the bottom of the clouds.
But before the time comes,
He needs to know who he is:
Everything he touches grows wings.
And this too, will fly.

©Micheal Ace